


The Monastery

by 18WhyamIdoingthis20



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, M/M, Satan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27507136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/18WhyamIdoingthis20/pseuds/18WhyamIdoingthis20
Summary: Francisco has fallen in love, but will his feelings be reciprocated?
Relationships: OC/OC





	1. The first monastery

The monastery bell rang out, its peal alerting the monks that it was time to cease their tasks and move on to the next activity for the day.  
“Brother Francisco!” a voice called down the bleak corridor of the monastery. “It’s time for Mass. The abbot will notice if you are late; you have already missed it twice this week.”  
Francisco left his cell, visibly gloomy.  
“Well, don’t dawdle, brother Francisco,” the other monk snapped, clearly frustrated. “Or you will make us both late for mass – what would the abbot say then?”  
Francisco made no reply but began to walk with more haste.  
“What is wrong with you, brother Francisco? You never used to miss mass.”  
“Times change, brother Andrew,” Francisco replied gloomily. “I have applied to transfer to another monastery, however. I hope that will help me to remember the commitment I have made.”  
“Why would you leave this monastery, brother Francisco?” Andrew asked. “You only joined last week. This constant removal will surely prevent you from fully appreciating what can be gained from joining a monastic order – especially if you insist on being late to mass.”  
“My reflections are melancholy, brother Andrew, but I hope a change of scenery will allow me to become more dedicated to my faith. It is clear that nothing good will come of me staying here.”  
“How can you know this if you have only just arrived?” Andrew seemed oddly concerned. “Surely you should wait for more than a week to determine whether this monastery is the source of your misery – the constant change could be all that troubles you, and if you were to stay here for longer, you could find your spirits returning to you.”  
“I know what troubles me and staying would only make it worse – I must leave this monastery for pastures new and forget I ever was here.”  
The two monks had by this time caught up with the rest of the inhabitants of their monastery, so their conversation was ended as they each tried to lose their troubles in the rituals of their religion.

“Brother Francisco!”  
Francisco looked up from his gardening to see Andrew stood close by. “What do you want, brother Andrew?”  
“I thought you had applied to leave this monastery,” Andrew asked. “What are you still doing here?”  
“It is a lengthy process, brother Andrew,” Francisco explained. “While I have asked the abbot for permission to leave, I must find another order who will accept me, as well as one whose teachings line up with what I was raised to believe. While you might hope for my speedy departure, I may yet be here for another week, as I must continue with my duties while I seek a new place to live.”  
“What makes you think that I wish your hasty departure?” Andrew asked, visibly hurt. “Do you forget that it was I who tried to persuade you to rethink your decision to leave this monastery? If you really believe that leaving is the best decision for you, then I must respect that, but I truly believe that you are making a mistake, brother Francisco. You cannot run from yourself, brother Francisco. No matter how much you might displace yourself, you must one day come to terms with who you are.”  
“Why must you torment me in this matter?” Francisco asked in a barely audible whisper, although it was clear that he felt very upset. “You know nothing of what afflicts me – nothing! If you must know, brother Andrew, I was at the heart of a great scandal at my last monastery; they promised to speak no further of it outside the walls if I agreed to leave. I cannot stay here because I find myself tempted again; if I leave now and choose a life of even more seclusion than that within these walls, I should be able to keep both myself and those around me safe. Your every word is a knife into my soul, dividing me further as I fight between what I want to do and what I know I must do.”  
“You speak in riddles, brother,” Andrew replied, speaking more to the plants around him than to Francisco. “How can I torment you? If only you explained what it was that I did that was the source of your torment, then I would begin to understand why you feel driven to leave me.”  
“You do nothing to torment me per se,” Francisco whispered, his voice even more quiet than before; he too was completely avoiding eye-contact with Andrew. “Your very presence is the source of my afflictions. When you try to show me friendship, it only makes it worse for me, as I battle with my feelings, because I know you would not wish to know of my feelings, brother Andrew, so I must stifle them.”  
“I understand you now,” Andrew replied, looking up from his gardening. “But…”  
Andrew’s voice was drowned out by the monastery bell, which signalled that it was time for them to cease gardening and return to their individual cells.

Francisco regretted his outburst and consequently avoided Andrew for the rest of the day. That evening, he received correspondence from a monastery saying that they had space for him; he had heard about this monastery before and believed that it was the best place for him to go. He wrote back to them to say that he would join them shortly before retiring to his bed. His heart felt full, but he kept telling himself that it was the right thing to do.

He awoke early the next morning and tried to leave early for Mass in order to avoid Andrew; Andrew, however, was waiting outside the door of his cell to speak to him.  
“What are you doing here, brother Andrew?” Francisco asked. “Should you not remain in your cell until it is time for Mass?”  
“Why have you been avoiding me, brother Francisco?” Andrew asked directly. “Do not think that I have not noticed, brother.”  
“I said too much in the garden, and I did not wish to face the consequence of what I said. It is no matter now, for I have found a new monastery to join and I leave early tomorrow morning.”  
“You’re leaving?” Andrew asked, despair clearly evident in his face. “But brother Francisco, you do not know how I feel. I understood what you said in the garden, but it did not upset me in the way you feared.” Andrew looked into Francisco’s eyes, but Francisco soon looked away. “I love you, brother Francisco.” He whispered.  
Francisco felt such a rush of emotions come over him at once, but the bell for Mass began to toll before he could express them in any words to Andrew.

It was with a heavy heart that Francisco prepared to leave the monastery. Although he had few worldly possessions, and even fewer that he would bring with him, but his room needed to be arranged for the next inhabitant. He wished that Andrew could have joined him as he worked, but the business of the monastery prevented him. Francisco was alone with his thoughts and all he could feel was regret; he worked as slowly as he could in an attempt to postpone the moment when he would have to leave the monastery and Andrew indefinitely. He kept hoping that Andrew would appear in his room, as he had often done before Mass, but there was no sign of him. Francisco began to almost doubt that their conversation had ever happened, but something inside him knew that Andrew’s feelings were real.

Francisco had made his way to the door of the monastery, to make his exit, without encountering Andrew. The abbot was there, wishing Francisco well in his next endeavour, but there was no sign of anyone else. Francisco’s regret for deciding to leave before he had determined how Andrew felt was growing with every passing moment and Andrew’s absence in his departure only made him ache more for what could have been. Francisco walked alone up the hill towards his new home, hardly daring to look back. There was no Andrew looking for him out of one of the windows; he continued walking alone.

When he arrived at his new monastery, Francisco was greeted by the abbot, who led him wordlessly to his new cell. Francisco was secretly grateful for the abbot’s lack of speech, as he doubted whether he would have been able to concentrate on his words anyway. He was given a few moments alone to arrange the room, and as he did so, he found that someone had left a short note under the mattress. Burning with curiosity, he turned it over and read it.  
‘Brother Francisco,’ it began. Francisco’s heart began to race. ‘I regret that we were not able to meet again before your departure, but in preparation for such an eventuality I wrote this note, that you may hope for another opportunity for the two of us to meet.  
I have successfully applied to join a monastery nearby to yours and, when I arrive, I will do my best to arrange a rendezvous with you at some time that will arouse the least suspicion amongst our peers. I wish I could include more detail in this note, but I fear that even what I have written so far would be enough to expose us should someone happen upon this note, which is dangerously likely. My next communication shall be by some more secure means, although I am yet to determine what those means shall be.  
I hope to see you soon. Yours, brother Andrew.’  
Francisco stared at the letter in a sort of daze for several moments, then cast it into the fire as he heard the footsteps of an approaching monk.


	2. The second monastery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An indeterminate length of time has passed. This time demons are involved, cos I want to out-do Matthew Gregory Lewis (though I don't think anyone can).

A shrill wind howled through the trees, whipping up branches and throwing them wildly against the walls of the monastery. Alone in a cold cloister, a monk sat in sadness, staring moodily out of the window into the turbulent darkness. His eyes were filled with sadness, and his soul felt heavy. Inside his heart he was waiting, waiting anxiously, but he was concerned that the weather would prevent his visitor from arriving, and he would be abandoned again for the night.  
Somewhere on the edge of his vision, he saw a bolt of lightning throw down its arm viciously upon a blackened tree, sparking a fire within its bowels. The wind whipped up around it, fanning the flames and ripping off its flaming branches, casting the flames into further trees until the forest was ablaze. The monk threw himself onto his bed with great despair, having finally giving up all hope that his visitor would arrive. “Surely,” he reasoned with himself “no one will dare leave their sanctitude on such a night as this, and I would be ridiculous to expect anyone to risk their life battling through this blaze. I must abandon all hope for tonight and hope that tomorrow shall be more clement – yes, indeed, all shall be well tomorrow evening.” Thus, he reasoned, although a part of him remained agitated, and although he was laying on his bed in a death-like stillness, his heart was racing like he was fleeing some almighty foe. He feared also that the raging flames would stray too close to the walls of the monastery and claim his life, although he reasoned against this, as the monastery was cast out of thick, sturdy stone, and the forest grew outside of the palisade of its boundary walls.  
As he lay in this state of misery and anticipation, the wind outside died down, but in its stead a great rainstorm commenced. The monk looked in curiosity out of the window at the forest, but the fire was in too great a state of maturity to be quelled so soon by this outpouring. The monk returned to his bed, his curiosity now satisfied, and tried again to seek the solace of sleep, but in vain. His mind was far too restless for the repose of sleep.  
As he lay in deep thought, he heard the distant melodies of a lute. With the rain raging so violently outside, and the absence of any such instruments within the monastery, he thought he must have imagined it. “Such a fever must have grasped my mind” he muttered to himself “that I now hear this ghostly melody played by some sprite, tormenting me” but the music continued, growing louder, as though whatever were playing it was travelling towards his cell, until it no longer grew louder, and apparently settled outside of his window. Then a voice called out to him, “brother!” it cried “brother Francisco, where are you?”  
This was too much for the monk. He sprang to his feet and ran to the window and looked out. Standing below him, plucking the strings of a lute, was the visitor he so anxiously awaited. His heart leapt, and he leant against the windowsill, allowing his head to be showered by the rain. “You came!” he called out, tears of joy and relief masked by the shower. “I thought that the weather would be too harsh for you, but you came!”  
“My love!” his visitor cried back. “Even the forces of Hell could not stop me coming here tonight”  
The monk ran to his bed and ripped off the sheet, throwing it down for his visitor to climb. Although the wall was steep, and the monk’s cell was on the first floor, he climbed it easily, stepping onto the uncarpeted floor of the cell and dripping all over it.  
“You must be freezing,” the monk said with concern. “I don’t want you to catch cold. Come near the fire; it was lit long ago but there are still embers we can stoke”  
“It would do best if I just took my damp clothes off altogether and left them by the fire to dry” his guest replied.  
“I suppose that would be sufficient” replied the monk with a coy smile. “But really, I expected not that you would be so forward. Surely you have it in you to tease me a little before you make such advances”  
“We have not the time for playing games” the visitor replied firmly. “This wretched storm slowed my journey, and surely you are aware that the more time we spend here, the greater the risk of discovery”  
The monk only laughed at this.  
By the morning, his visitor had left. The monk left his cell to join the other residents of the monastery for morning vespers. He tried to keep a calm face to disguise the elation of his mind, but it was hard not to smile at the thought of such happiness of his kept secret from the other monks. His mind wandered all through the prayers, and he struggled to concentrate all through his breakfast. While he was tending to the garden, he was at perfect liberty to contemplate the night’s events. His visitor – a monk from a neighbouring monastery – asked him to return the visit that night. This concerned him somewhat, as he had never left the monastery unauthorised before. Anxiously, he planned the venture in his mind, contemplating how he could leave unnoticed, what signal he could give to announce his arrival, how he could navigate the charred remains of the forest. He ploughed his fears into the soil, plucking weeds from the earth with his hands, until he heard the bell toll again, for evening prayers.  
Brother Francisco sat in his room, watching the sun set and the last rays of light reaching the monastery. His heart was pounding against his ribcage with a wild panicking passion of anticipation. Under his bed he had hidden a lyre, which he knew would be recognised by his host as an instrument not native to his monastery. The weather was more clement than the previous night, but he feared a sudden change. Grasping the lute in one trembling hand, he tied his bedsheets to the heaviest object near the window he could find – a nightstand full of religious literature – and lowered himself from the window. As he anticipated, his rope was not long enough to reach the ground, but his decent from the end was considerably less painful than if he had jumped freely. Thankfully (he thought), his lute remained intact, and he rose to his feet, running in the direction of the neighbouring monastery.  
Under the window of his lover, brother Francisco plucked at the strings of his lute and serenaded to announce his arrival. It was a mild, moonlit night, and a gentle breeze wafted his music towards the window of its audience.  
“oh, my brother your excellence goes beyond all bounds  
And your beauty and magnificence dazzle my eyes  
For you I would find at least a hundred hounds  
But we shall only be united under different skies”  
“Brother Francisco!” his beloved called back.  
“Brother Andrew!” he replied, running eagerly towards brother Andrew, who threw down a rope for him to climb. Francisco was eager in his ascent, falling from the window into Andrew’s arms in a passionate embrace.  
Back in brother Francisco’s monastery, all seemed quiet and unassuming. The monks were all fast asleep in their beds, and the only noise to be heard was an occasional snore or deep breath from some of the monks. All were asleep – or so it seemed. In a far cell, working to the flicker of a dying candle, sat a young monk – brother Ricardo. His eyes were focussing on the words written on a torn and faded piece of parchment which lay in his hands. He struggled to make out the characters escribed on it through the gloom scarcely penetrated by the weak flame of his candle. Absorbed in his task, he was oblivious to the other events occurring in the monastery; that is, until his candle gave in and guttered, leaving him finally in a room lit only by dim moonlight. He cursed the candle under his breath, for he knew that no force could restore light to the wick. Sat in apprehensive darkness, his ears were open to the sounds in the monastery, which in turn caused him to realise that something in the monastery was amiss. He arose to hit feet and crept almost noiselessly to his door, opening it carefully and tiptoeing into the corridor.  
It was darker in the corridor than in his cell, and a cold draft embraced him, chilling him to his spine and making him regret his thin clothing. He crept stealthily towards the staircase, caressing the wall with his fingers to guide him on his journey. His footsteps made a gentle thump with each step, but one which could scarcely be heard by his own ears. When he reached the end of the corridor, he descended the staircase, down to the kitchen below. In the bowels of the monastery, stoking the fire with a long stick, sat a mysterious figure, hunched and with its back to brother Ricardo.  
“I was afraid that you would be unwilling to make my acquaintance” brother Ricardo whispered to the figure.  
“Much as I was afraid that you would be cursed with the cowardice and ignorance of most of your kind” hissed the creature in return. “and yet you still, even now, have the chance to end this endeavour without any negative consequences for yourself – no deal, as yet, has been made.”  
“I am not afraid” Ricardo said, with resolution. “You fulfil your role, and I will fulfil mine.”  
“As you wish” replied the creature. It raised its arms and began to chant: “Volui tibi cubitum somnum nocte somnum fallat Nam deinde igni combures in interitum moris.” As it spoke these words, Ricardo felt a great power leaving the creature and travel to the floor above where the other monks – Francisco excepting – were sleeping. The creature looked at Ricardo with a meaningful gaze and left him. He knew what he had to do. He had practiced his arts the night before, but now his task seemed so much more difficult.  
As the first whispers of dawn were upon the horizon, and the sky began to gain a tinge of red, brother Francisco bade brother Andrew farewell, before descending from his window and making his way on foot to his own monastery. The air was still crisp, but the sun’s rays kissed brother Francisco’s face from afar.  
He had to ascend a small incline on his return journey to the monastery, and when he reached its peak, he was met with a sight which chilled him to his core. The monastery, which had been his home for many years, was ablaze with a hellish flame and, stood at the side of the furnace, cackling with glee, stood brother Ricardo. Immediately, brother Francisco understood that the remaining monks had perished in the blaze. He fled the scene and returned to brother Andrew’s monastery to recount what he had seen.  
The Father of brother Andrew’s monastery, upon hearing this terrible tale, sped over to take a look for himself. One glance confirmed brother Francisco’s words. Help was summoned, but Francisco’s foreboding had been correct – all had perished. The father of the monastery was kind enough to offer Francisco a place there instead, which he took eagerly for it meant he could now see brother Andrew more frequently.  
But the monastery was no more.


End file.
